Summary: Title sais it all: possible explanation of the creation of the Mirror of Erised.
Disclaimer: Right. Because I am totally JK Rowling. In disguise. (Everybody go: OOOOOHHH!)
A/N: I'm not particularly satisfied with this story; so if you have any suggestions how to improve please REVIEW! (I repeat: REVIEW!) (And just in case you didn't get that: REVIEW!)
THE CREATION OF THE MIRROR OF ERISED
The man stepped back to admire his handiwork, brushing glass dust from his face. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, his hands peppered with ugly blisters and little cuts and scabs. He hadn't left the workshop for weeks; hadn't taken his eye of his goal once. But now …
He was finished. Granted, there was still quite a way to go until his creation would be completely done, but that was just formalities. A grin reluctantly spread across his face, creating rivets in his skin and easing the tension of months of concentration, broken only occasionally to consult a book or catch a nap where he could.
And anyway: those formalities could wait. In fact, they would have to wait. His creation needed time to mould, to set, if you will. So what would he do now? A whole night's sleep seemed a luxury too lavish to afford, especially not when he was this close.
Food.
Eyes closed at the thought of proper food; maybe a pint or two, or even better a ridiculously large mug of coffee. And then: bacon sandwiches, steak, chicken – even the muggle food cereal would be better than the pathetic excuses of nourishment he had been living off for what seemed like eternity.
The man's daydreams were interrupted by a cold voice from the doorway.
'Is it finished yet?'
He spun towards the voice, despair washing involuntarily over him at the sound. The shadow in the doorway laughed: a broken, hollow sound that had long ago lost any resemblance to that of humanity. 'Did you really think I would let you stop now? You fool! It is almost over: and I will have my prize by tonight.'
The man gaped in shock at the shadow. 'But – but it won't be ready! It can't! It still needs to set; spells need to be cast …'
'I don't care.'
And the ice in that voice – the total dismissal of feeling, of mercy – it told the man that the shadow truly didn't care. But ages of exhaustion, of desperation, washed over him and he felt anger bubbling to the surface.
'I won't!' He shouted in a sudden burst of rebellion.
The silence from the doorway chilled his blood and all the confidence left him. 'I – I mean,' He stuttered, trying to fix his mistake. But it was too late.
'You dare …' the shadow left the sentence hanging, and instead started a new one, some composure being recovered. 'I will have the Mirror of Erised. You will make it for me. Or you will die.'
A simple statement of fact. The man was desperate now. 'But it isn't finished! There are still weeks of work to do!'
'Then work harder.'
'Why is this so important to you? Who are you?'
There was another blood curdling pause.
'You know,' the voice began in an amused tone, 'I would have let you live tonight. But I really don't like questions. Questions cause death. I can always find someone else to create my mirror, you useless, filthy, mediocre, pathetic –'
A flash of green light and the craftsman was dead, his blank eyes staring up from the floor, his mouth twisted into one last unspoken plea.
The shadow turned calmly from the door and behind it the body burst into flames. It wouldn't do to let the next workman know what had happened to his predecessor.
Because if there was one thing the shadow was sure of, it was this: the Mirror or Erised – his creation, his pride – would be his. There wasn't long now.